


Some new pleasures prove

by luna65



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Missing Scenes, S3, Will has regrets, rape metaphor, sad empath noises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:04:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4865795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna65/pseuds/luna65
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.</i><br/>Who baited whom?  And who will be the one to be caught?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some new pleasures prove

**Author's Note:**

> Relational to the arc of 03x08 and 03x09
> 
> My gratitude to the fabulous Cleolinda Jones for invoking Donne's "The Bait" as metaphorical connection. The use of Kipling is fairly obvious to us all, of course.

_Come live with me, and be my love,_  
_And we will some new pleasures prove_  
_Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,_  
_With silken lines, and silver hooks._  
\- John Donne "The Bait"

 

**I:** _...at the bottom of his cold heart he was afraid_

When he had lifted one-third of himself clear of the ground, he stayed balancing to and fro exactly as a dandelion-tuft balances in the wind, and he looked at Rikki-tikki with the wicked snake's eyes that never change their expression, whatever the snake may be thinking of.  
\- Rudyard Kipling, "Rikki-tikki-tavi"

 

A life can be the smallest of things. Moments strung along a connection which is coarse or fine. Existence allows no pleasure, therefore you must take it.

 

The mania of the collector, it is developed within the burgeoning intelligence of a esthete: taste for its own sake, the one item which delivers a rarefied reaction, to ponder whatever value it holds, both subjectively and objectively: for a minute or an hour, for a year or a decade.

Three years living within those rooms he had constructed, seeking to find his love within them all. But that fleeting smile and those verdant eyes kept to certain locales where the lord of the manor was mocked and refuted as much as acknowledged. 

(Even in Hannibal's mind, Will was only ever himself.)

The silvery writhing fish, scales flashing to meet the sunlight upon a clear stream, the sound of water a quiescent consideration...when all was the din of insipid conversation and clumsy inquiry, he would close his eyes and sit upon the shore in the long grass, mumbling bees and drowsy dragonflies and endless shimmering, liquid jewels tumbling within the grip of that miser called the Earth.

Waiting.

 

A life can be the smallest of things. Eschewing unnecessary connections and possessions. Braiding the lure for the hook from one's own parings and detritus.

Shiny as a ring...both of which are devices to catch and to hold.

 

When Will turned to look at the presence-in-absence upon the banks, it was only a quick disdainful glance. But he would remain still...forever, if need be. He breathed, he stared, he consumed the sight of his beloved.

Outside, the world ground on. The dust settled. Entropy ruled all despite the vainglorious declarations of the pious and the pestiferous. 

_You rage but for naught. Look up, and behold your true terminus._

What did _time_ matter for him?

 

A life can be the smallest of things. A stab, a snap, a shattering of facades, all which stands between order and chaos. But they are the same, merely evolving states.

 

"What are you doing to him, in your mind?"

Alana was blank-faced as she ate the lunch Hannibal had prepared: Rock Cornish pot-roasted in wine and herbs in the French manner with root vegetables. Comfort food for her strange mood...despite her charmed life there was a jagged crater, the depths lost to blackness were it to be viewed directly. From a distance it merely nagged.

Hannibal blandly regarded her, a piece of chicken upon his plastic fork.

"One might consider that question extremely presumptuous."

Even without emphasis, the phrase contained layers of indignity.

"I believe I have a right to know. I have personally assured your comfort and privilege in this institution."

This included allowing him to cook - under heavily-armed supervision - once a week. Hannibal did not appear inclined to violence or evasion. Alana knew he was playing a very long game.

"I watch him, as he fishes. Casting his lure, the patience of one who practices stillness in the hunt."

"Who lured whom, I wonder?" A smirk as she sipped her wine from a paper cup.

A sliver of a frown. Anyone else would have missed it, but Alana has all the time in the world to study the face of her personal beast.

"Are you merely needling me once more? And to what end?"

"I know you've been thinking of him recently. Because of the murders, and Frederick's obsession to wave them in your face."

"I am the toothless wolf, fur dulled by captivity, taunted by the villagers who once shuddered at the sounds of my snarls and howls."

" _This shall end when one is dead;_  
_(At thy pleasure, Nag.)_ " Alana recited.

Hannibal inclined his head. "For once you are most apt, Alana."

She offered a dark crooked eyebrow in response, shooting the cuffs of the silk blouse beneath her hand-tailored blazer.

"I'm almost _always_ right."

" _Almost_."

Emphasis, when properly placed, makes a world of difference.

 

 **II:** _"Those who kill snakes get killed by snakes."_

"You taunted him too long, Frederick. You should have known this would be the price."

"As if you're not in on it!" Chilton shouted at Alana, waving a copy of the new edition of _The American Journal of Psychiatry_. "As if you're somehow less culpable because you give him everything he wants!"

She smiled. "But that's just it, he doesn't have everything he wants. He doesn't want anything but the one thing denied to him."

"The attention of Will Graham."

"The friendship of Will Graham." 

"Did you know, when I phoned Will to ask if he'd consent to an interview he said, 'Be grateful there is a young child in the room with me, Frederick, or I would tell you what I _really_ think.' I am a sane man and therefore did not pass on that tidbit to our captive guest."

Alana's eyes widened. "Your decency is something I always question, but if you do _anything_ -"

Chilton waved a hand, pursing his lips. "My dear Dr. Bloom, you're so terribly protective of that lamb, aren't you? Does your wife know you're still carrying a torch for Ye Olde Tortured Empath?"

Alana swiveled her chair away from him. "You may go, Dr. Chilton."

 

 

_There is a pattern. It is escalating. I know what he is._

He could smell Jack's desperation to catch this shy boy, as acrid as his sweat. Hannibal possessed an intimate knowledge of that scent...the fear, the hopelessness, the anger. For Jack, there would be only one mongoose capable of sinking his teeth into the skull of the cobra.

The moon above, as viewed through the skylight, shone bright as a bone, the emergence of understanding.

_"What are you doing to him, in your mind?"_

Hannibal smiled. _It is what he is doing to **me** , Alana, that you should fear._

 

 **III:** _"What price for a snake's egg? For a young cobra? For a young king-cobra? For the last -- the very last of the brood?"_

"You're open and calm and easy now..."

Will smiled at Molly, even as the smile felt like flaking paint on rotting wood. He split another log, and the log was the head of Mason Verger, whom he sometimes dreamed of eating. Not entirely...just his heart.

It wasn't a facade, it was just what was underneath all the calm. Like his scars, they protected the fissures wrought within him.

 

He stared at the letter, warmed by the fire. He always was. He was reminded of other nights, other fires. That seemingly soothing room which sought to enfold him in the embrace of his seducer.

_Rikki-tikki knew that he must catch her, or all the trouble would begin again._

The writing smudged slightly, written in charcoal rather than graphite. Will ran his thumb along Hannibal's signature. He is not certain why he didn't burn it as soon as Jack handed it to him, but as soon as the thought came to him, so did its' answer.

_He'll know I was rude otherwise. And that would be bad._

The voice was in his head, always, but he managed to dampen it with the voices of those he loved, now, and of life in the moment. But sometimes, when he was fishing, he was tempted to look toward the woods which bracketed the lake.

Waiting.

 

"MIndset? Is that what you're calling it?"

Will shrugged. "You know as well as I do it would come to this. It's disingenuous of you to suggest that I wouldn't need to ask."

"Look, I wanted to make it as safe as possible for you. I want to know what _you_ think."

"What I think - what I know - is incomplete without that mindset. I'm stumbling in the dark. To know _how_ he did it is not the same as knowing _why_ and you **know** that."

"Say what you want, but every time I have tried to protect you, you end up circumventing me."

Will laughed, at first in disbelief but then in knowing derision.

 

_There doth he lie...does he dream? Or merely sleepwalk through his memory palace, following his own bloody footprints._

Will reminded himself of the real rules of dealing with Hannibal Lecter.

_He's already inside of you, don't let him enact mnemonic rape: pinning you with questions and assaulting you with memories._

He imagined himself as the stone angel from the fountain: far beyond the concerns of the world around her. Impassive.

Their repartee is expected, passive-aggressive banter, and he attempts to shut it down. But a well-aimed barrage will eventually crack a stone wall.

"Are you a good father, Will?"

The hook lands true and cuts deep. Will feels himself thrashing, has to look down to ensure he hasn't moved. Hannibal capitulates and asks for the file. They regard one another and Will feels the weight of the familiar dissecting stare, the squirming half-loathing ambivalence to feel it weigh and measure him, caress him as those hands always could -

"Family values may have declined over the last century, but we still help our families when we can. You're family, Will."

\- then a tumble of dead weight, it churned the darkness from below. That voice, it's in his head but when it's in the world it sounds so much more dreadfully _beautiful_. What he felt but had never named, it rose and stretched and _hungered_. Will swallowed it down and departed, nearly at a run. And when he was halfway down the hall, he looked behind him to make certain he was alone.

 

**IV:** _a dance, perfectly balanced_

_You're family, Will._

"I am not letting him in, Alana. Don't worry about me."

But Hannibal doesn't want to know what Will thinks of the killer, or impart anything Will does not already know. He wants to _see_ , and he looks long and deep till his hunger is tamed. But never satisfied.

_Anything he can do, you can do better._

There he is: Nag in the garden, within the walls, violating the construct he had created: shard-by-bloody-shard. Disturbing his composure. Worrying at the loose ends of his resolve. 

Swallowing the lure.

But he knew, he truly did, that this would be the outcome. It would not change him to consider the evil that men do, it would change him to see Hannibal again, and to be seen by him. Like no one else could.

 

"What are you doing to him, in your mind?"

"He's blameless, is he? Entirely without transgression of his own."

"We both know your influence is substantial when it comes to Will."

"And I do not have his best interests at heart."

"That is a fact."

"I must behave myself."

Alana states the price of transgression, of ignoring those boundaries so readily erected, but revoked now that Will has come back to him, as Hannibal knew he would. Eventually the fish tires of supposed freedom, blind biology, and delights in the strange sparkle of the decoy.

_For thou thyself art thine own bait_

And he considered that whoever of them might be caught - this boy they called The Tooth Fairy, Will, or himself - his undoing had already been enacted...and all which was left was the dance at the end of the hook.

 

 

"We're all in this stew together," Jack tells him, and Hannibal concedes to himself it is an apt observation. How willing they all are, in the end, to acknowledge their cabalistic obsession. Jack is offering Will's throat to him once more, an appeasement of flesh, aware that Will is the only bait which will appeal to him.

"You'll either play or you won't."

Hannibal feels compelled to remind Jack that when you play with the jagged edges of madness, scaring is inevitable.


End file.
